Sweet Liar
by Osthrys
Summary: Remus Lupin takes in Harry the summer after fifth year, shortly after he begins his stay at the Dursley’s. Life is hard for both of them, trying to deal with Sirius’ death, but they soon find more ways to cope then one. SLASH.RLHP.WIP.
1. A Dream is Just a Dream

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything here, except the plot. All characters and names are copyrighted to J.K Rowling, and Raincoast Books.

**A/N: **This is my first Harry/Remus fan fiction, and is one that I had begun to write a long time ago, but never got around to continuing. Well, I was reading through all my old fics the other day, after writing more in _Foundations of a Fugitive_, and happen to stumble across this particular one. I read it, and thought, 'Hey wow, this is actually pretty good…This'd make a good fan fiction!', so I decided to resume it. I already have a bit of the second chapter done, and the ending I had written around the same time I wrote this chapter. I know exactly how everything is going to turn out, and a sequel already planned. You'll understand why after I finish this fic. I'm going to try my best to juggle writing two fics at once, as I have no intentions on giving up my Harry/Snape fic, but I'd also like to continue with this one. If anybody who reads this would like to be either a **Plot Beta**, or a **Grammar Beta**, please e-mail me with specifications. My address is in my profile. Thanks.

**Summary: **Remus Lupin takes in Harry the summer after fifth year, shortly after he begins his stay at the Dursley's. Life is hard for both of them, trying to deal with Sirius' death, but they soon find more ways to cope then one. SLASH. RL/HP.

**Sweet Liar**

**Chapter One: A Dream is Just a Dream.**

Harry Potter sat staring unseeingly out of the Dursley's car. Every tree that passed by him on the road seemed to be nothing more then a colorless blob of something entirely indescribable, even if he tried. Nothing seemed to penetrate the foggy haze that was filling his mind more and more by the minute. Even Aunt Petunia's incessant humming-out-of-tune seemed far away and drawn out, insignificant. Rain started to splatter across the car window, and inside through the small crack at the top to blow onto Harry's face in an almost caressing and caring way. He didn't even notice, and didn't register Dudley's complaints coming from the mound of flesh pressed up against him in the other seat.

'Deep breaths, Harry, deep breaths' He repeated in his head, but his nose didn't seem to be working, and every breath he took through his mouth tasted putrid and stale. Not that it mattered. Some sick, twisted part of him was hoping, wishing, that he could suffocate on the stale, lifeless air, and become just as lifeless as it. Maybe then he wouldn't have to deal with all….all this….

"It's okay Dudley Dummers, we're home now! Look, it's only five o'clock, I'm sure you haven't missed that new program on the telly." Aunt Petunia's voice floated to his shut-off ears has the car smoothly glided to a halt. He blinked his eyes a few times until a (coloured) view of Number Four, Privet Drive came into his field of vision.

"_Space Adventures_, Mummy! Get it right!" The greasy voice of his cousin rung loud and grotesque into his ear as he languidly unbuckled himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry Dudders, I'll have to remember that one."

"Good boy," Ick. Uncle Vernon. "Getting his telly shows right. What kind of man would he be if he couldn't tell the news from soap operas? You wouldn't get nowhere, is what. 'Could learn a thing or two from him, Petunia."

There came no answer, but Harry could almost perfectly visualize a simpering look on Aunt Petunia's face as she nodded her head vigorously. If only Hermione could hear them talk, she just might have a heart attack. She always was one for the Bad Grammar Bug.

Hermione…

Images flashed before his mind. Dreams, Thestrals, Corridors, Glass balls, Ron laughing, Hermione….Hermione are you alright? Tonks! Dumbledore! Lupin! Sirius, watch out, no, Sirius….SIRIUS!

"Boy!" His head jerked as his eyes welled, and his mind snapped back to the present. Uncle Vernon was glaring at him in contempt and was pointing to him, and then to the house. "You can't stay in there all day. I don't want you melting my car seats."

Harry emotionlessly got out and retrieved his trunks and Hedwig's cage (she had been made to fly home instead of being driven, by the Dursley's) and began to lug them towards the door Uncle Vernon had already disappeared behind. He entered the house to the familiar smells of cheap cleaner, a horrendous amount of Begonias and something that slightly resembled roast beef. He could hear the television in the living room blaring something that sounded to his drowned out ears like "_Space Age, Space Adventures! Rolling down a highway, breezing past Mars…" _in a cheesy voice that you often hear on shows for small children, always in the sort of high pitch squeal that sounds like it should have been made to entertain dogs.

He trundled past the kitchen, were Aunt Petunia had already begun to make supper (Macaroni and cheese, one of Dudley's favourites, and one of Harry's least favourites), and into the hallway. He caught a brief glimpse of Dudley and Uncle Vernon sitting together on the couch, their beady eyes bulging like a bullfrog's and glued to the screen. They looked as if the could wet their pants with excitement. Nutters, the lot of them. As he made it to the staircase, he cast a quick, contemptuous look to the cupboard door and quickened his pace.

Memories, such hateful things.

He made his way up the stairs, one slow step and a time, lugging his baggage behind him and straining the joints on his knees. He ignored the pain that belonged to the legs and arms of everyone whose only form of actual physical activity is riding a broomstick. Running through corridors and 'hard action adventure' did not count in this own, personal tally mark.

He made it up to the second floor landing and began to drag his bags heavily across the floor to the very end door. He could hear Uncle Vernon yell up, "Not so loud, Boy, I can't hear the telly!", but he didn't bother to try and soften the scraping noise. His luggage got caught on the threadbare rug that adorned the hall floor, and bunched it up, dragging it with them. He ignored that, as well.

He reached the last door and felt an odd sort of elation at seeing the plaque that had been erected on the front of the oak door.

_**POTTER'S ROOM**_

Dudley probably wasn't too happy about that. He swiveled his head slightly to the left and caught sight of another plaque, this one gold plated instead of wood, like his.

_**DUDLEY DUMMER'S ROOM**_

Harry burst into outright laughter, a sound that seemed sick, and strange to his ears. Foreign and unreal. It echoed throughout his head and ricocheted off his gut. Dudley Dummer? Well, they got the dumb part right. Dudley must have been completely _mortified_ when he saw that. Wonder what his little friends will think when they see that? Where did 'Big D' go?

He snickered one last time before turning the knob and opening the door to his temporary bedroom. He dragged in his luggage and placed it unceremoniously on his bedroom floor, right at the foot of his bed, before carrying Hedwig's cage over and setting it on the now cleared desk. His pet, his owl, his only friend in Privet Drive, Little Winging, Neighbor to Magnolia Crescent, had not yet returned. Harry Potter would have to wait.

It was shortly past eight, when Hedwig flew in through the open window and laded on his bedpost with a soft hoot. He had been lying on his bed, listening to one of Dudley's old, semi broken radios, playing in a scratchy voice that hinted to broken speaker boxes.

He leaned over and offered Hedwig a small smile of appreciation before lying back down. Now that he had her, part of him wished that she would go away, leave him alone. But alone, brought memories. He could do things, he knew, to distract himself. Draw, write, even hum tunelessly to the radio and songs he didn't know, but it all seemed so frivolous and half forgotten.

He never did like memories, they always seemed to bring hurt. Whenever he remembered, pictures if the dead seemed to creep into his mind's eye. Lily dying, James dying, get Harry! Don't take Harry! Take me, but don't harm Harry! Foolish girl…And now more memories, memories of a new life, one known and loved, new and old at the same time, and taken away. Sirius. Sirius, where are you? I made a mistake…he's not…Sirius, what are you doing here? Sirius, it's Bellatrix! Lupin, Sirius, stop! No, no don't….The Veil! He's gone Harry, he's gone! There's nothing you can do, nothing…

"No!"

He sat bolt upright in bed, alerting Hedwig, who took wing and refuge on top of his broken dresser, the door hanging slightly of it's hinges. He heard Uncle Vernon shout up, asking what he was hollering about up there, and then he didn't. He couldn't hear anything, but yet he could hear everything too. Taste, touch, smell, sound….Super sensitive and deceiving. His heart beat seemed to thunder in his ears, and he could almost feel the blood pulse in his veins. He could smell the fresh night air, the asphalt down below, and the night's leftover supper. This sense overload was too much for such a fragile person, and he began to hyperventilate, his eyes welled up, and then it happened.

He cried. Long and hard.

Now, all that was left was the washed out, sick feeling, the strange humming in his ears, and the salty taste of his own tears that had trickled down his cheek and into the corner of his mouth. He wiped his face angrily and glared at the just visible moon outside. He mustn't think of Sirius. He mustn't. He couldn't heal if he did. But did he want to? He couldn't shut Sirius out, he'd love him forever, dead or alive.

No. No no no no no. Sirius was not dead. Not dead. Just trapped….trapped behind the Veil. And he was bound and determined to get him out.

Harry curled up into the fetal position, not even bothering to pull the blankets around his chilled body, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The night was black, not just the shade, but in every sense of the word. Dark beyond a colour, beyond suffocation, beyond meaning. The darkness was thick, heavy, almost tangible, and Harry could swear he could taste the hate on his tongue. It spoke of evil, things sent from places the fifteen, soon to be sixteen, boy had never even dreamed to think of. Was this what this was? A dream? Could it be trusted, after all the other dreams he had? It didn't feel like a dream, but then again, they never do.

If it was a dream, he didn't like it. If it was real, that was even worse.

He took a step forward, feeling as though he should have fallen into some kind of bottomless pit. To his relief, however, the earth seemed to materialize beneath his bare feet, and stretched out, now visible even in the impending darkness. There was a sensation of grass beneath his feet, but it felt unreal, like an illusion of what it really was. A copy, a rough one. A moon appeared in what he guessed was the sky in this world, and presented to him light to see by. It hung oddly in the air, almost like it was hanging limp like some kind of stage prop, and he was the marionette dancing on the stage for everyone to see except himself.

He surveyed his surroundings. He seemed to be standing on the outer rim of a deep gouge in the earth, like a gully. There was no trees to make it a grove, but it gave off the forest feeling regardless. However, it was not welcoming. He couldn't see, feel, or hear any other form of life around, as if all life of this world had been drowned out, or put in slow motion, so slow, he was not able to see it move or change with the naked sight.

'Your hallucinating, Harry, hallucinating' He thought, closing his eyes. The devil voice in him whispered menacingly in his ear, bringing words meant to spark doubt within his soul, 'And you're talking to yourself. Not a good sign'. He clasped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tighter shut. 'It's just a dream, just a dream, just a dream…'

That's when he heard it. It sounded like someone's voice from far away, being carried to his ears on a wind that was not there. "Harry…" It whispered, it caressed, it gouged and it frightened. It slowly faded away, as if someone where carrying the voice away over their shoulder down a long corridor. He snapped his eyes open and looked around hysterically. He checked down to the treeless grove, and saw something that made his heart stop. Something down there was moving. It seemed as if boulders were pushing their way up out of the earth, splitting it in front of them and causing mounds of soil to push up out of the fissures and make strange, humplike mounds, in indistinct shapes. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a cold shiver run down his spine, and cold perspiration drip into the corner of his mouth. He was scared.

He turned around to run back to wherever back was, but it seemed like some kind of barrier was erected preventing him from going anymore then two feet. It was magic, he could tell. He could tell by the feel of it. Not the type of feel you can conduct with your hands, or tongue, or body, but the kind you conduct with your mind. It was obvious now; Someone was in here with him.

He reached for his wand in his jeans pocket, but surprised himself when he discovered it wasn't there. It was also then that he discovered he was stark naked, which only made him feel even more vulnerable. He sank to the ground on his knees and cradled the back of his head in his hands. His glasses were still there, so he could see. He rocked back and forth, eyes closed, and drew himself up into his body for whatever kind of measly protection he could concoct.

He felt two, long and thin, hands grab his shoulders and haul him up. He whimpered helplessly, and didn't even bother to reprimand himself. This isn't like the other dreams in which he dreamt of the dark. In them, he had always been somebody else, but in this, he was just Harry, making him all the more scared, and vulnerable.

The hands dragged him forward and towards the grove. Every sense of being in his body cried out in protest, but it seemed as though he had lost complete control of his body. The marionette was definitely here. He felt his knees being scraped against the rough gravel and rocks as he was dragged down the slope, and each scrape seemed to display a hundred fold more of pain, sending violent shocks through his legs, but he could do nothing about it. Tears spilled down his cheeks harder, and harder, out of pain and fear. That seemed to be the only movement his body was doing on it's on.

As the reached halfway down, he began to make out what the odd lump was, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to believe. He heard cold, high pitched laughter that stung his ears as if it was a strong blast of cold wind. Then, a voice filled with malice whispered in his ear, "Look, Potter, Look."

Harry was drug roughly to a stop on top of something very soft. He opened his eyes reluctantly and looked down. Fresh soil. He was kneeling on freshly upturned soil. "Look up, Potter!" Harry refused to, and felt sharp nails dig into the back of his head, lifting his head up and tearing open his eyes. He felt a choked sob come out of his throat at what he saw.

There, before him, was a heavy set, gray tombstone. He traced the inscription delicately with his hands as he felt feeling momentarily seep into his nerves.

**Sirius Black  
****1969-2001  
****Died Trying to Protect  
****The Boy Who Lived**

Harry felt himself begin to cry harder as he shook his head in disbelief. "No…." He choked out, but was met with only laughter. The rough hands tore him away from it and onto another mound of Earth that had just appeared. The voice rang out again, slicing through the chill in the air, and Harry's heart.

"Don't deny it Harry. It's your fault he's dead, and you know it. If you continue to fight me, not only will your Godfather be dead, but so will all your friends. Do you love your friends, Harry?"

"…Yes…."

"Do you love me?"

Harry ripped his head painfully away from the hands, and screamed, "NO! You killed my parents you sick bastard! I hate you, I hate you, I….hate….." Harry broke down again, and the hands grabbed his shoulders and ripped him back up.

"Look!" It shouted again, cold and cruel, "Look at what will happen if you do not side with me!" Harry's head was ripped up and he stared at the new tombstone.

**Harry Potter  
****1986-2001  
****Buried Alive Because  
****He Was  
****The Boy Who Lived**

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "It's just a dream, just a dream and nothing more, just a dream."

The laughter started up again.

"A dream is just a dream, just a dream, that's all a dream is, nothing more, nothing more at all…"

"Just a dream, Harry! Are you so sure? What about when you dreamed of Mr. Weasley, or of Sirius? Were they just dreams? Don't be so sure of yourself. The future appears in many funny ways. A dream is never just a dream, even though you don't know it." The hands released him and he fell flat on top of the soft earth of his own grave. He felt a strange sensation that rattled his body, like a clap of thunder without sound. Then, in the distance, seemingly carried on the wind, he heard,

"Goodbye, Harry Potter."

He sighed and rested his head in his hands, dirt mixing with the tears and smearing his face. Just as he thought it was all over, he felt two hands again land lightly on his shoulder. But these seemed soft, and caring. He felt them help him up, and slowly turn him around.

Harry screamed.

He was looking up into the face of his dead Godfather, Sirius Black. Except, it wasn't his face. The once tired, but handsome features were half rotten, skin peeling of in places to reveal rotting muscles, or bone. His eyes were coal black, and he seemed to stand crooked. His tongue was gone.

Harry kept screaming as he turned, and with a sudden rush of adrenaline, ran up the hill. He made it to the top, and heard strange noises coming form the grove below. He saw an array of people, who weren't exactly people, appear as more tombstones popped up out of the Earth. The rest were to rotten to make out who they were. He could hear Sirius say, "What's wrong Harry? Don't you love us anymore?"

He heard cold laughter and looked up to see Voldemort himself standing before him. Harry glared. "That was cruel, Voldemort."

He laughed. "Well, guess I'm cruel then."

Harry saw a flash of sharp little teeth, gleaming in Voldemort's own, twisted smile. He ducked his head and half wished he had the Ruby Slippers so he could enchant, "There's no place like Home, there's no place like Home…" Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and screamed, "A DREAM IS JUST A DREAM! IT ISN'T REAL!"

When his eyes snapped open again, he was looking up at a white plaster ceiling, with various thumbtacks in it, and the soft glow of the light. Thank God. He rolled over in his bed and checked the time. Two o'clock, a.m. Hedwig was looking at him funny, and he just smiled, then climbed out of bed and headed quietly down to the kitchen.

He poured himself a glass of milk, drank it down, then sat staring at the odd arrangement of flowers that decorated the table. They were yellow. Harry hated yellow. It was a way too happy colour. He sighed, and pressed his hands together flat, against his brow.

He prayed for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay! If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading, and feedback is always appreciated. I'm a lot more motivated into actually writing my stories, if I know that people are reading them. SO, please **Review, but no FLAMES! **Constructive criticism is welcomed, and if you have any plot ideas, or advice, feel free to leave them. Don't bother leaving a flame, 'cause I'll just laugh at them. Seriously, if you hated this fic, why's you read the whole thing, and then take the time to actually _review_? Pathetic. 

**PS: **Here's the title of the next chapter, and the first paragraph. I'll leave the same thing at the end of every chapter.

**Chapter Two: Contemptuous**

Remus Lupin sat in a dusty chair at Twelve Grimmauld place, back rigid and breathing heavy. He was staring with wide eyes at the fireplace on the wall across from him, a half full bottle of fire whisky clutched in his hand, the cover long ago lost. A scotch glass sat off to the side, but it was still bone dry…


	2. Contemptuous

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything here, except the plot. All characters and names are copyrighted to J.K Rowling, and Raincoast Books.

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long to get updated, and that it's, well, a REALLY short chapter. I just thought that I had to end this chapter where I did, to give it the full effect I was looking for. It's rather angsty, but there was no way around it. It must be done. J

ALSO, I'd like to make a not about the last chapter, as some reviewers mentioned it. The dates were wrong on the tombstones. Sirius should have been born in 1960, and Harry in 1980. Both should have died in 1996. Sorry 'bout that!

**Chapter Two: Contemptuous**

Remus Lupin sat in a dusty chair at Twelve Grimmauld Place, back rigid and breathing heavy. He was staring with wide eyes at the fireplace across from him, a half-full bottle of Ogden's Fire Whisky clutched tightly in his hand, the cover long ago lost. A scotch glass sat on a small table off to the side, but it was still bone dry.

Blinking slowly, he raised the bottle to his lips, and took a long drag from it's contents. He choked a little as the fiery substance scorched his throat, and he spluttered, laughing drunkenly at the droplets that had sprayed from his mouth and onto his bare arm.

His gaze settled on a picture resting innocently on the mantle. He felt his eyes prickle, and his stomach burn, bile rising to his throat. It was fairly recent, no more than three months old, but the frame containing it was aged, the blue-metal surface tarnished from being hidden away in the attic for years. He and Sirius had found it while going through some old things, right around Christmas time.

Remus had fallen in love with it on sight, proclaiming that it only needed a bit of a polish, and it'd be good as new. Sirius had laughed at him then, his deep baritone ricocheting off the hard walls. "_Oh Moony," _He had whispered, lips upturned in a teasing grin, "_If I let you keep every trinket you found around here, this house would be no less cluttered than when we first arrived!"_

But it wasn't the frame that brought the boiling rage inside him; brought the driving urge to scream until his throat bled, and hurl the bottle of foul drink in his hand at the offending mantle piece.

He glared viciously at the glossy print, orange and yellows reflecting off the surface from the fire.

A small, moving version of Remus was sitting in an armchair, by the fireplace in the den. His hands loosely held a leather-bound book in his lap, and a deep frown was creasing his brow. On a large, wing-backed chair across from him, Sirius sat, his long hair swept back by a dark band, hanging over his shoulder. He was grinning hugely, his weathered hands holding onto an old, worn violin. The bow was lying forgotten, propped up on the chair, but he was holding the instrument aloft, randomly plucking at the strings, and laughing as Remus cringed. Sirius turned and mouthed something to the person taking the picture, and the image shook a little for a second, as they laughed.

He could remember that day. The violin had been Remus', packed haphazardly away in his closet at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had barged into his room while he was sleeping, throwing open the closet doors and proclaiming that there must be _something_ fun to do stashed away in there. He had found the old, leather case, the seams beginning to give way to age. Gently, he had carried it out and run his hands across the surface. Remus had sat up in his bed then, looking at the old violin case, his eyes swimming. He watched carefully as Sirius set it down on the foot of his bed with a kind of reverence he had rarely seen in the mischief maker. He undid the clasps, and simply stood there, staring at the instrument.

"I didn't know you played…" He whispered. Remus looked away, his gaze catching at the rusted window frame.

"I don't." Sirius locked his slate eyes with Remus' amber. "Not anymore, anyways."

"Why not?"

A deep sigh came from the Wolf, his head lolling back to hit the bed post in an awkward angle. "It's a long story, Sirius, and not one I particularly want to delve into right now."

Sirius had looked at him then. No words were spoken, but his gaze told Remus all he needed to know. '_When you're ready'_, it said.

Would he ever be?

He had planned on telling Sirius, eventually. Part of him knew, though, that he couldn't tell him. He couldn't taint him like that, not when he already had too many things to worry about.

_Not that it matters anymore._

Remus did throw the bottle then, but not at the mantle piece. He simply threw it in a random direction, and watched as the glass shattered into little pieces, razor sharp. They fell to the floor, digging into the carpet, surrounded by the amber liquid that lay staining the light surface. He watched as a single droplet fell from a shard, gathering at the bottom, only to splash into nothing. His body began to shake, shoulders slumped, and hands clasped tightly.

He closed his eyes and shook violently, hot tears spilling down his pale cheeks. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form words. When he realized that his vocal chords were failing, he simply moved his lips in resignation, mouthing one word.

_Why?_

He felt his stomach clench as he doubled over, silent tears turning into wrenching sobs. His hands fisted into his sandy hair, pulling viciously at the locks. Rocking silently, his breathing coming in sharp, panting gasps, he began to hyperventilate. His nails dragged across his face, leaving angry red marks in their wake, his sobs filling the room with a heavy weight of despair. His eyes gazed up, staring at the laughing Sirius. Alive. And Happy.

He screamed. Clutching his hair, he cried in anguish, a gut-wrenching, heart-rendering cry that caused his magic to tingle, sharp bolts of deep blue and gold shooting off from his prone form. He slipped from his chair, crashing to his knees on the floor as he continued to scream.

His throat raw and painful, he gripped the carpet tightly and let his head fall to the plush material, tears dampening the surface.

He prayed for mercy.

He prayed for death.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, thanks for reading guys! Please Review, and if you have any suggestions, please tell me! Here's the excerpt from the next chapter!

**Chapter Three: Tell Me Little Angel, Is There a Place for Me?**

Remus awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. His muscles pulled in protest as he tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position. It only took a few seconds to realize where he was. His eyes flew open, only to meet a blurred vision of a cream coloured carpet. Bringing his head up, he stared at the mantle, and immediately regretted it.


	3. A Deal Struck

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything here, except the plot. All characters and names are copyrighted to J.K Rowling, and Raincoast Books

**A/N:** I'm not dead! I'd put up this chappie on LJ but forgot to do it here! So, here's the third! Fourth will be up soon!

**Chapter Three: A Deal Struck.**

Remus awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. His muscles pulled in protest as he tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position. It only took a few seconds to realize where he was. His eyes flew open, only to meet a blurred vision of a cream coloured carpet. Bringing his head up, he stared at the mantle, and immediately regretted it.

His head was swimming, and his eyes burned as he blinked continuously, a slow feeling of nausea building in his stomach. He laid back down, his body aching, and slowly tried to work out the kinks in his body. 'How long have I been here?' he thought in frustration.

Rubbing his eyes, he managed to stand up, refusing to look at the picture that had tormented him so much the night before. Shutting the door to the den behind him, he headed down the hallway and entered the lonely kitchen. Grumbling, he walked over to the cupboards. As he opened the doors, searching in vain for something to eat, a sharp, snide voice sounded from behind him, causing him to jump around.

"Ah, so you're finally awake?"

The Wolf blinked, and smiled sheepishly. "How long have you been here?"

Severus Snape smirked. "Roughly an hour. I found you lying rather…_ungracefully_…on the den floor-" Remus blushed crimson, "-but figured you needed your beauty sleep." The Potion Master's smirk widened and his eyes sparkled sarcastically.

Remus narrowed his eyes at him. "Why are you here, Severus?" He rubbed his face and pulled out a dusty chair, sitting down.

Obsidian eyes took in the tired man, and he released a bitter sigh. "I am here on behalf of Dumbledore. As he couldn't be here himself, he wanted me to break the news. Apparently, a simple owl was not good enough."

Remus eyed him warily. "What news?"

The darker man still had not sat down, but stood rigid, his hands clasped in front of him. He was always so precise. "The Headmaster is beginning to…er…wonder about his previous judgment considering Potter's stay with his muggle relatives."

Remus ears twitched. "What do you mean?"

Snape glowered at having been interrupted. "I _mean_ that Dumbledore has decided that Potter will spend the first two weeks of summer vacation with the muggles, but after that required length of time, he will be handed over into your care-"

"But that's wonderful!" Remus blurted, ignoring the growl that came from the other man at having been interrupted _again. _The Wolf paused for a split second, a frown creasing his brow. "But I highly doubt that Harry would agree to that…to this…" He waved his arms around, indicating the house he was currently occupying.

"Yes, _I know. _Perhaps, if you let me finish what I'm saying, while I am in fact trying to _say it_, you will actually _hear it_." He sneered vehemently. "Now, we come to the part I know you will not like…Leave it to Dumbledore to have _me_ tell you…" He sighed heavily, his expression cooling, but Remus glared at him apprehensively. "Dumbledore has already speculated that Harry will refuse to be brought to his godfather's old home, and has decided on an alternative housing for the two of you to live in until the coming school year. And don't look at me like that, he knows that it must be a very safe place for Harry to stay, and, I assure you, it is. Nonetheless, he has requested that you both decide on a Secret-Keeper for added protection. Now…I'm afraid that you are not going to like the place that Dumbledore has chosen, not that you really have a choice…" He trailed off, eyeing the Wolf warily in turn. "I am afraid that you and Potter are going to have to stay at your family's old manor house."

Remus gulped. _Could his life get any worse?_

The man who called himself Jarg sat patiently on a small stool near the fireplace. His cold eyes slowly travelled the length of the room, taking in the plush green carpet, and the dark green snake curled by the fire, blending almost perfectly with it's surroundings.

Jarg's dark eyes captured those of the snake, red, and cruel. A low hiss was emitted and the large, green-brown head lifted dangerously, posed to strike if need be. The man merely chuckled, and spread his legs out before him.

The light of the fire shone brilliantly against a gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. Embedded in the middle was an odd, orange gem, the flames making it swirl like fire itself. Other than that, it was plain.

Jarg himself seemed a tall man, his hair heavy around his shoulders, coarse and dark brown. A small nose made him seem timid, contradicting the sharp cheekbones and stiff air. Despite his seemingly plain features, the simple presence of this man, dressed in nothing but a black coat and dark brown pants, drew any bystanders to their knees. He commanded attention, cold and unforgiving.

He sat placidly, ignoring the wary snake, letting his eyes rest on the door, for which he was waiting to open. Growing impatient he stood, glaring vehemently at the open windows to his right. In a bout of irritation, he rapidly cracked his neck and grabbed a glass paper weight off the desk. He hurled it at the fire, and grinned as it shattered, tiny crystal shards dancing in the flames.

Destruction was sweet.

The door behind him creaked, and he turned, watching as a squat man with watery eyes edged into the room. "The Master is ready to see you now, sir." He gave a deep, shaky bow, and stepped backwards out the door, never once looking up to see Jarg's face.

A cruel smile widened as a tall, gaunt figure of a man entered, hood drawn back to reveal what look to be a skull carrying blood red eyes, so white was the skin that drew tight across the bones. The man walked until he was directly in front of Jarg, kneeling in a sign of submission at his feet.

"_Somnio Abulans_, may my breath carry you to ascension." Hands that were mostly bone rested against the skull.

Jarg watched this creature with cold intent. "_Somniator_, may my waters wash away your sin. Rise, child."

If this proud creature had any objection to being called 'child' he showed it not, as he rose once more to his feet, though his eyes never met that of the other man. Jarg sat back down in the chair, indicating that the other was to remain standing. "I know you, Thomas Marvolo Riddle. How long have you been hiding here, from the light? No better than that rat that serves you."

"My Lord, I did not request you here to banter."

Jarg's fist cleched on the arm of the chair. "Nor did I agree to this meeting to be contradicted. While you are with me, _I_ am the Master, not Tom."

A head was bowed. "Yes, Master."

"Now tell me, why did you see fit to call me to this…place?"

Ah, solid ground. "You know of my future goals, yes?"

"Ah, of course. It is hard not to know you, these days. I am quite familiar with your child's play…This…Massacre that you have deemed fit. How many more shall you kill and leave to waste?"

He winced. "I…My Lord, we are…There are reports that the Order of the Phoenix has…"

He took a deep breath. "I am losing strength, My Lord."

Jarg smiled sharply. "A proud man may gloat in his strength, but a wise man admits that he has none."

"Thank you, My Lord. I have brought you here, however, to propose a pact. My forces are going under, and my most loyal followers are losing heart. The Giants have been an awesome asset, as well as the Dementors, but the Merpeople have refused my offer of a truce. I…I have brought you here to ask you for your help."

Jarg gave a cold, hard laugh. "And why, pray tell, would I help a silly little school boy like you?"

That was it for Tom. He lashed out. "That is enough! You are a guest here, in my home, and I will not have you treat me in such a manner! I am a Lord! A God among men!"

Jarg rose and descended upon the skeletal creature. "You are a mess. A shell of what you could have been. Look at you! Worthless! Wizard's think they are above all else, but who was here first!? I was writing scriptures eons before you screamed your first words, swallowed in your petulant mother's afterbirth!

"Do not speak up to me, boy! You are naught but a weasel, trying to crawl your way past the Hawk! My beak is sharp, my bite is worse!"

Tom cowered. "I…I am sorry, My Lord. It is not my place, forgive me…"

Jarg cocked an eyebrow. "I am merciful, so I shall let it slide this once. Now, tell me, if I agree to this pact, what will be in it for me?"

The other man wrung his hands nervously. "What is it that you would desire, Lord?"

Jarg watched the man intently, waging his options. His face was blank, but his eyes burned with a wicked intensity. "Your immortal soul."

Tom paled considerably, but held his head high, attempting to control his shaking.

"Done." He hoped he would not regret it.

* * *

A sharp _rat-a-tat-tat_ sounded against Harry's bedroom window, and Hedwig gave a soft cry of excitement, her feathers ruffling happily, and she hopped out the door of her open cage to land on Harry's bed. She leaned over and softly nipped Harry's nose, rousting him from his dreamless slumber.

Harry groaned, rubbing his head tiredly. When he saw the cause of his sudden wake, he reach a tired hand out to her and clumsily stroked her feathers, as he blinked groggily.

"Wha…?" Hedwig hopped up and down excitedly, before taking flight and landing on the windowsill, where a handsome golden eagle-owl rested, waiting to be let in, a yellowed parchment attached to a leather thong around it's leg.

Harry rubbed his bleary eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and making his way over to the windowsill. As soon as he pushed up on the window to let the bird in, it flew directly past him, only to land next to Hedwig, where she was now sitting on his desk. The newcomer twittered happily, and nudged Hedwig with his beak. The snowy owl ruffled her feathers indignantly, though she playfully nipped him back. Harry cocked an eyebrow. _Does Hedwig have a crush?_

He did not recognize the bird, but he certainly recognized the handwriting that graced the parchment envelope.

_Professor Lupin!_

He untied it excitedly, happy to receive correspondence from his favourite teacher, and now close friend. He broke the wax seal, and withdrew the whiter, cleaner parchment within, also graced with the shining, metallic gold ink.

_Dear Harry,_

_I have sent Toby with this letter as a means of asking you a very important question._

_Professor Dumbledore has sent word that he wishes you to be safely removed from Number 4 Privet Drive two weeks into your summer vacation, and to be placed elsewhere with a guardian for the remainder of the summer._

_If this is of no objection to you, then you must be informed of the details._

_I will be your guardian, and you will have to spend the rest of the summer alone with me, you as my charge. We will not be staying at Grimmauld Place, and instead will be relocated to another premises near the coast of Wales._

_Because of the secrecy and extreme protection needed, you will not be allowed to see any of your friends, or send letters. We will also need to decide on a Secret-Keeper for our new home, as an extra precaution._

_If you are alright with this decision, please send word back immediately._

_Yours Truly,_

_Remus J. Lupin._

Harry stared, open-mouthed at the letter, attempting to take it all in. Then, a wide smile broke out over his face.

In less then a week, he could be free from the Dursley's forever!

Not being able to contact his friends was a bit worrisome to Harry, but he revelled in the fact that it would be Professor Lupin that would be his Guardian throughout the summer. Lupin was a tie to his parents, his Godfather…He was a good man, a friend, and Harry had no objections whatsoever to being able to have more quality time with the wolf.

He opened an ink bottle, and dipped an overused quill into the liquid, laying a blank piece of parchment out on the table. The quill scratched against the material as he wrote back messily.

_Professor Lupin,_

_I wont mind it at all. In fact, I'm looking forward to it! When will you be coming to pick me up? _

_I think Hermione would make a good Secret-Keeper…But I'd like to hear your input._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry J. Potter._

Harry slipped the letter into the envelope, and tied it to the leather thong on Toby's leg. He stroked a pale, slender hand along the male bird's soft, golden feathers, before pointing him towards the now opened window.

"Go on," He said softly, "It's time to go. Take this back to Professor Lupin for me, will you?"

The bird hooted softly, nuzzling Hedwig one last time before it took flight and soared out through the window. Harry paused for a few minutes, watching it disappear, before shutting the pane once more.

_Soon…Soon I shall be going home…_


End file.
